They did not walk toward the city like people seeking mercy.
They walked toward it like a controlled breach.
From the ridge, the settlement looked off to Felicity—too intact for the end of the world. Towers stood in precise lines. Smoke rose in measured columns. Patrols moved with cadence. The outer barricades weren't piles of scavenged metal, but layered defence lanes welded with intention.
Survival, but not desperate.
But not the desperate kind.
This place hadn't just survived. It had evolved, dropping desperation in favour of power, and that knowledge scraped along Felicity's nerves. Structure meant walls around hope. Structure meant leashes. It pressed a cold weight inside her chest.
Teeth meant hierarchy; hierarchy meant one throat you could squeeze.
This was the purpose: to reach the city's leader, operating on the belief that targeting centralised command was their best way to succeed.
